


Glutton For Punishment

by crocodile_eat_u



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Anal Sex, Dom/sub, Gags, M/M, Rimming, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-26
Updated: 2011-09-26
Packaged: 2017-10-24 02:00:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/257631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crocodile_eat_u/pseuds/crocodile_eat_u
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for<a href="http://cabinpres-fic.livejournal.com/728.html?thread=1251800#t1251800"> this</a> prompt on the meme. Well sorta, OP wanted Douglas/Martin/Lemon and Dom!Martin/Sub!Douglas. I just stuck it all in a blender.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Glutton For Punishment

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah...I don't know whether to be ashamed of this or proud that I got Douglas fucked. Ah well. Also beta-ed my me so mistakes are my own and I apologise for them now. :D Now enjoy the sexing. ^^
> 
> Spoliers: For Qikiqtarjuaq I suppose.
> 
> Warning: Urrrm sex? And lot's of it? D/s themes, gagging, sex toys, rimming and bottom!Douglas. ^^;
> 
> Disclaimer: Not mine. Do not own.

**Glutton for punishment**

Martin is quiet when they enter the house.

Upon further inspection, he is not simply quiet, he is silent. Which is mildly unnerving to Douglas, usually so used to his loquacious captain prattling on about something vaguely uninteresting. On most occasions, flying. On other occasions, why Douglas innocently misplaced the logbooks.

On this instance, Douglas is under the slight suspicion that Martin’s lack of conversation is somewhat inordinately involved with the latter. Martin’s silence is unsettling to an extent. There are many different levels of it, ranging from petulant silence to the aching one when Douglas has done something rather wrong.

He just can’t quite figure out which one it is today.

The heavy door creeks as Martin shuts it, his expression closed, indecipherable to even Douglas who is often able to read the other easily. A vague thought, a small, hazy snippet flitters across his mind; a brief worry into the possibility that maybe he should be a little more apprehensive for the moment. But he takes no heed to the doubtful warning and shrugs it off.

“By any chance Sir, you haven’t misplaced your tongue with the nearest feline friend have you?” He smiles wolfishly, shrugging off his uniform coat and draping it with causal finesse over the back of one of the dining room chairs. He expects a flustered retort, a hot flush to creep across the back of Martin’s neck as the man glares in indignation but he receives none of these. Martin turns to face him, his cool gun-metal grey eyes honed with perfect precision on Douglas, who shifts in discomfort.

He’s seen that expression before, that calm glare of nonchalant disproval, anger. Martin only wears it when--

Oh.

Douglas finally realises what is happening and he can barely repress the poorly concealed shudder of anticipation rolling down into his gut and blooming across his groin.

Martin’s eyes flash beautifully, the grey darkening as if night has fallen upon them. A sharp glint of acknowledgement, knowing full well Douglas realises what he’s done.

“Go wait for me in the bedroom.”

His voice is dark, low and coiling like honey trailing upon skin. Thick and oozing down Douglas’ spine and he loves this feeling more than anything at the moment. It is however, marred slightly by the tight anxiety he feels at the command, at what Martin is planning. Because it is certainly obvious, he has something on his mind.

Douglas doesn’t say a word, doesn’t even nod before turning to walk to the bedroom, closing the door behind him. Martin doesn’t like it when he closes the door but he can’t help the deep, flood of arousal roll thick and dizzying in his stomach the moment the door creeks open, the thin line of light beneath it stretching out as Martin’s shadow grows and he walks in, a plan in his mind. It’s the build up that does it, the slow dripping of trepidation, of anticipation that Douglas loves.

Even before he is about to be punished.

He sighs slightly, trying to ground himself as he seats himself on his large bed. An IKEA super king; something that caught his fancy when dragged out by one of the exes. The second one he thinks vaguely.

His bedroom is fairly large which is nice. Martin was certainly taken aback when Douglas first brought him back here, smiling indulgently in the crook of his neck, kissing the salt away as Martin gaped in amazement. Certainly a difference in comparison to his little attic. They never go there on the mutually agreed consensus that a single bed was in no way suitable for such vigorous activities by two grown men.

He tries to smile at the thought but resigns with a sort of lopsided smirk that falls rather short. His mind inevitably flits back to their past encounters: from their first kiss, soft and quiet in a vacant Gertie, to their first time, Martin’s cheeks crimson and sweaty as he throws his head back, mouth forming beautifully around a cry as his thighs tighten around Douglas’ hips.

The thought shivers down his spine deliciously.

Douglas then thinks about the first time they did _this_. The transition from vanilla sex to something wholly indefinable. The inevitable power play, the Captain and his First Officer. Douglas doesn’t know what it is particularly, something toeing the line between a bit of raucous fun in the bedroom and pure, unadulterated, kinky filth.

Whatever it is, Douglas doesn’t complain.

It’s bloody brilliant.

Although he never for once began to imagine Martin being so experimental, for want of a better word, in bed. Not experimental, indulgent perhaps. Indulgence in Douglas’ whims, in his deepest fantasies. One would have thought a man of his age, calibre and sway would have seen and done things saucy enough to make the devil blush. And to some extent, he has. Just not with the wives.

Thus it is both incredibly mind blowing and befuddling when Martin of all people proves to be a perfect match. And not just sexually.

Douglas blinks down at the carpet, his tongue skimming the inside of his lip softly, his lips suddenly aching to kiss the man he’s found himself hopelessly enamoured with. He allows himself a moment of hedonism, a brief but mesmerising thought of what Martin might possibly have in store for him today.

Although such a profligacy was certainly opposite the point.

A moment passes, slow and uncalculated and Douglas can feel the tension thrumming in the air as he waits quietly, obediently for Martin. Finally he can hear footsteps, soft padding of feet against the floor before the door knob turns and the aged latch clicks back, Martin walking in, his fire-streaked hair glinting slightly from the soft dimming glows emitting from the gaps in the curtains. It’s dark now, and Douglas briefly considers whether he should have flicked on the bedside lamp before Martin walks around to turn it on himself.

Douglas says nothing as the room is washed in a muted glow, dark gold from the beige lampshade painting the walls, cut by the dim shadows stretching across them in blurred smudges.

Martin steps in front of him, who only then realises that he’s holding something--his overnight bag to be exact. The bag drops with an unceremonious thud against the carpet and the sound echoes through the room vaguely, clogging his ears. It’s almost suffocating, the thick silence, the tension brewing, festering wildly and Douglas can’t help but swallow hard, feeling unnervingly vulnerable, a feat, he can say, he’s never gotten quite used to.

Soon enough he finds himself barely able to tolerate the deafening silence.

“I may be wrong,” he starts wryly, ignoring the slight jump in his gut when Martin’s eyes flash. “But I have the sneaky suspicion I’ve offended Sir somehow.”

Martin blinks at him, unamused, his expression indecipherable. Douglas doesn’t know if it is the lack of sufficient lighting, or the agitated well of anticipation playing tricks on his mind, but something unworldly has taken grip of his heart and squeezes tightly at the sight of the other. It might have been arousal or love or even a little fear. Douglas doesn’t know specifically but the concoction of emotions makes the back of his neck sweat slightly and his throat tighten from either excitement or trepidation. It is one of them. Or even possibly both-

Martin’s lips, his beautiful, bowed pout opens around words and it takes Douglas a beat to register what he is saying.

“Stand up.”

Douglas blinks, the two words skimming kisses down his spine. Martin’s usual panic ridden squeak is reduced to a low, hard command, something that should not have been as erotic as it was.

He’s heard Martin use, or attempt to, such a voice before. When trying unsuccessfully to horde any power or status over Douglas. It’s never had this affect on him however, never been this firm and authoritative and Douglas finds he can do nothing but comply.

Martin smirks nastily, gazing up at Douglas with dark, imposing eyes. _God they look beautiful_.

Douglas pushes the thought away, trying not to focus on the specks of dark blue within the pupils, the way they scan him before meeting his own, indulgent chocolate meeting frosty gun metal grey.

“You don’t even know why I’m angry, do you?” Martin’s smirk falls, the calm expression of knowingness shrouding all else.

Douglas cannot help but leer in reply, the mischievous joker within him unable to resist such temptation to goad Martin. “So Sir is offended.”

Martin takes a step back, turning away with causal indifference. He moves to the large set of draws by the wall to lean against as he roots through the bag he brought in, his back to Douglas. Douglas can see his shoulders move, the muscles in the planes flex as he rummages through the bag and he wants to run his hand down it, over those bony shoulders, press his lips to the silken skin behind Martin’s ear.

However before he can even contemplate such a move, Martin begins to speak.

“Take off your clothes, now.”

It takes a moment for Douglas to process the words, pick out the select key words and contemplate the action.

 _Clothes. Off. Now._

He decides he isn’t one to argue there and obeys, unbuttoning his shirt swiftly. There’s an art to this, Douglas muses, to undressing. A perfect balance between slow, sensual unclothing when in the right mood, and a speedy shed of the troublesome garments when propriety is dammed. On this instance, Douglas undresses quickly but by no means untidily, slightly apprehensive of Martin’s actions.

Soon he sheds his trousers, standing in nothing but his underwear, repressing the urge to shift. Martin finally cranes his head to glimpse at Douglas over his shoulder, an eyebrow raised in what Douglas can only describe as derision.

He sniffs. “Take those off.” And turns away again toward the bag.

For once, Douglas experiences a moment of hesitation, wavering between his gut instinct to retort back with full sarcasm, or complying with Martin’s request- no, command.

 _Command._

The word coats his head with filthy thoughts, painting the inside with a thick film of eroticism. He swallows down all vacillation and reaches down to tug his boxers off, tossing them in the pile his clothes are now in.

He suddenly has the unavoidable urge to shuffle, Martin’s indifference to him, even now as he’s stripped bare, his usual sarcastic wit coming up short, a tad more than just intimidating.

Martin finally turns to face him, his eyes roaming once over the man before he steps closer, gazing up at Douglas who fights, much to his aghast, the urge to blush.

“That’s better,” Martin murmurs softly, knuckles coming to rest gently against Douglas’ cheek. Douglas tries not to lean into the touch, the warm caress of skin tempting beyond belief. It’s an odd feeling, strangely unsettling standing naked before Martin, who is fully clothed, watching Douglas with piercing eyes. It sends a shiver down Douglas’ spine, pooling at the small of his back with the dizzying swirl of arousal in his abdomen. Martin’s eyes flash and a smile creeps onto his face ever so slowly, feral almost like a cat who has just caught its prey. It’s heady, watching that expression, and Douglas is surprised to find himself without a single word to say, awe-struck to an extent, his mind a hazy fog of arousal and anxiety.

Martin’s mouth opens ever so slightly and Douglas can glimpse that dark, wet cavern beyond those plump, gorgeous lips, moist as his tongue darts out to flick over them briefly. Douglas stares at the wet shine, wanting nothing more than to lean forward and press his own lips against them. However he suddenly realises that Martin’s caught on. The Captain smirks at Douglas’ expression, at the man’s poorly concealed want and swipes his thumb across that fleshy bottom lip, bringing it up slowly to wipe across Douglas’ own lip.

Douglas inhales sharply when Martin skims the hand downward, ghosting over his throat and chest before casting his gaze downward, smirking in what Douglas could only describe as snide amusement. Douglas squirms, feeling uncomfortable under such a malicious gaze, unaccustomed to being on the receiving side. And by Martin-

 _It’s not real though. That look, it’s not real._

He hasn’t realised what a good actor Martin is. Perhaps a lifetime of being the recipient of such an expression taught him a thing or two.

Martin raises an eyebrow at Douglas’ flaccid penis, taking hold of it before smirking up at the man. “Well that’s no good is it?” The question isn’t rhetorical.

Douglas licks his lips before replying. “No.”

Martin’s smirk fades. “No, what?” Martin’s hand tightens ever so slightly and Douglas can feel a slight sweat break out on his skin.

“No, Sir.”

Martin beams, his eyes glinting wickedly and Douglas decides then and there that it is probably one of the most frightening sights he’s ever seen.

“Good,” he murmurs, his hand stroking once, twice, before releasing. He takes a step back and nods towards Douglas, staring pointedly at him. “Well?”

Douglas stares at Martin for a moment, feeling a hot, shameful blush creep across the back of his neck before he averts his gaze, dropping it to the floor as he takes himself in hand. Martin nods and turns away, shrugging off his uniform jacket and hanging it precariously over the draws. “Turn around,” he orders and Douglas hastens to comply, hearing a slight rustle as Martin potters behind him.

His body begins to thrum gently, short sparks of arousal shooting through his abdomen and his cock thickens, the thought of Martin watching him do this spurring Douglas on. His cheeks burn ever so slightly and he berates himself for displaying such a fault, inwardly grateful Martin can’t see his expression. However before he can think further, he can feel a soft brush of fabric behind him, Martin flush against his back, still clothed.

“You’re quite the chatter box today, aren’t you?” Martin murmurs softly, the words puffing deliciously against his spine.

“Yes Sir,” Douglas breathes, burning with anticipation. Martin hums in agreement and there is another shuffle of movement behind him. There is a slight brush of something distinctly bumpy against his skin- something he can’t quite decipher.

“I should gag you,” Martin idly remarks and Douglas bristles as he feels the bumpy surface brush the back of his neck. Martin leans forward and his lips brush Douglas’ shoulder slightly. “Open your mouth.”

Douglas can’t help but emit a nervous chuckle. “You’re not being serious are you?”

There’s another shuffle and a sudden lack of warmth as Martin steps away. Douglas almost regrets his word, craning his neck to try and glimpse his Captain over his shoulder. “Martin-”

“Open your mouth now.” His voice is hard and Douglas realises with belated worry that he is in fact, rather angry.

Douglas swallows, much to his aghast, all unease and complies, parting his lips.

And then he sees it. The unidentifiable object from earlier.

A lemon.

 _Wait._

 _A lemon?_

He is torn, momentarily, between questioning Martin or laughing. In the end, he surmises that the former might be more appropriate.

“Why on earth do you have a lemon?” he queries, slightly confounded by this. It’s funny yes, granted he’s seen and had stranger things enter and leave the Richardson bedroom. It ‘s just strange seeing Martin with it.

But then again, these are exceptional circumstances.

“Why do you think?” Martin murmurs, the soft baritone shivering across Douglas’ skin. It’s not rhetorical and it takes a moment for Douglas to think and apply a decent amount of logic in seek of the answer. He already knows it but the absurdity of such a thought adds a rather surreal element he finds himself unable to trust. He can’t quite believe it.

“A man-made lemony gag?” he jokes weakly, grimacing at the lack of quality in the comment. That or the notion of having to suck on a lemon for the better part of the night.

“My thoughts exactly.” Martin chirps and Douglas can feel the lemon being pressed against his lips once more.

 _Evil bastard_ , Douglas grumbles privately before relenting, holding the lemon between his lips. It is, oddly enough, the perfect size and he finds himself relaxing slightly at the thought of choking on the citrusy fruit becoming a nil possibility. Martin reaches up and Douglas can see a black strip of fabric being pulled across the lemon and twisted behind his head, tied securely. He can feel his lips stretched slightly around the lemon, his teeth resting securely on the rigid flesh. His mouth begins to water and he realises with belated disdain that there’s a possibility he will drool.

 _Great. Just Great. Thanks Martin_.

The thought however is brushed aside as the other manoeuvres him around, smiling at the homemade gag. Martin eyes it before they slink up, flashing slightly, darkened and Douglas can feel his own widening a fraction, his body thrumming in anticipation for touch. Nimble fingers reach up to trace the edge where Douglas’ mouth and the gag meet, a smile slinking quietly, like oil on water.

“Fitting isn’t it?” Martin mutters, seemingly to himself, before he raises his eyes to Douglas once again. “Given your penchant for lemons.”

Douglas wants to snort at that but can’t help but feel a swell of pride toward the younger man. Martin had clearly thought about this before hand, the stroke of genius striking at the best possible time. The precision of thought, the timing, preparation and sheer element of the whole situation was perfect, beyond it even. The ironic twist, the small joke Martin had situated between them was breathtaking and Douglas didn’t think he could have been prouder of him. He makes a mental note to kiss the living daylights out of him once the gag is off.

For now, however, he merely quirks an eyebrow at Martin, who purses his lips and tuts disapprovingly.

“Turn around and get on the bed,” Martin orders before once again turning his back to Douglas. Douglas blinks but complies soundly, clambering onto the bed. He rests on his elbows, watching Martin who does not even bat an eye at him. “On your front.”

Douglas spares a moment to hesitate, the sudden swoosh in the pit of his stomach clouding his thoughts before he twists around, resting comfortably on the soft cotton sheets. His cheek presses against the pillows as he brings his arms up to cushion himself, skin prickling slightly in trepidation. He’s never been in this position before with Martin, despite that fact that he’s thought about it.

Martin on top of him, taking him, fucking him.

 _That’s a nice thought._

They’ve never crossed the line though. It’s there, Douglas made sure to draw it out as soon as he realised he wanted it. The sudden image of Martin’s cheeks flushing heavily, squirming slightly as Douglas whispered filth into his ear, everything he wanted and thought of Martin doing to him, crosses his mind and he feels his cock throb in appreciation.

He reaches down and gives himself a hearty squeeze, choking slightly on the groan that can’t pass his lips.

“Stop that!” Martin bellows, his voice hard. “Don’t you even dare. That’s mine.” The words hiss out with anger and Douglas removes his hand, stuffing it under his chin to avoid temptation.

There’s a dip in the mattress and a slight shuffling and he can suddenly feel Martin hovering above him, his lips pressed against his ear, fingers curling hard in his hair. Douglas fights not to wince and closes his eyes, feeling that moist, dark whisper ghosting over his skin.

“It’s _mine_ Douglas. Do you understand me? _Mine._ ” The fingers tighten and Douglas nods quickly. “I don’t want you touching it. Not yet.” Douglas nods again and Martin loosens his grip, his body relaxing, the tension dispersing gently.

“Good....good boy...” he croons in his ear, the hand in his hair now stroking gently, carding through it. A tongue darts out to lick behind his ear, pressing a soft kiss there and Douglas can feel himself melt against the touch, Martin’s petting soothing somewhat. “You can be so good...” Martin whispers and Douglas shudders, his skin burning, heart swelling in joy from the praise.

He doesn’t know why though, why he’s suddenly so keen to press against Martin’s hand, to nuzzle against the crooning man. Only in this situation, in the bedroom does he relent such control, does he let the small, wanton voice inside take over and fall to his knees before the other man. It is, he thinks vaguely, some form of devotion. He trusts Martin enough to do this, trusts the other man to slip into a skin he never wears but would love to. In a way though, by an unspoken consensus between them, Douglas still feels in control. He is still Douglas Richardson, suave and not so easily flustered. His control is in submitting. Martin’s test, and he knows how Martin loves to push himself, is in stepping up to be master.

But he is still the same awkward Martin Crieff. The same man who shuffles around, trips over his own feet and nuzzles into the crook of Douglas’ neck when he’s sleeping.

And Douglas finds that he wouldn’t have it any other way. Moments like these, giving himself up completely for Martin, are wonderful. But they’re not forever. And that’s fine.

So he submits and leans his head into Martin’s palm, shivering from the wet kiss placed at the nape of his neck, nimble fingers ghosting down his spine slowly before Martin pulls away completely. He misses the contact but makes not a move, listening intently as Martin crawls off the mattress, the faint sound of rustling dancing in the air as he lays still, heart pumping in anticipation.

“You’re a good boy Douglas. When you want to be,” Martin murmurs from some distant point behind him. “But don’t think I’ve forgotten about what you did. You need to be punished.”

Douglas gulps, feeling his lips moist from around the lemon gag. Martin hums slightly and Douglas thinks he can almost hear him smile.

“It’s the only way you’ll learn.”

A moment passes, torturous to Douglas who can’t seem to stand the sudden silence. The weight of Martin’s words, the expectation and hope behind them coupled with the initial trepidation at what he might do, lay heavy in his mind. It prickles his skin, plucking nervously, insistently on his nerves and he has to fight not to turn and watch Martin.

 _But what is he doing?_

He swallows around the gag, feeling streaks of moisture trickle down his chin and in embarrassment, he quickly wipes it across a pillow, conducting as little movement as possible as not to rile his Captain. Martin doesn’t seem to notice or notices but says nothing, and the silence begins to congeal in the room. He shifts, a dull throb forming in his jaw from straining around the gag as he waits for the other.

He likes to think he is a patient man. And he is, usually. Patience after all, is a much sought after virtue. However, he finds himself, in this instance, rather edgy, drunk almost on anticipation. But this is part of the fun, the foreplay to the foreplay. He also knows that Martin likes to draw it out, watch Douglas squirm for as long as he can before taking pity, usually in a merciful act of fellatio.

His eyes flutter shut at the thought of Martin’s lips stretched deliciously around his cock, the small, mewling noises emitting from the other, wonderfully erotic. Douglas can almost feel it; Martin’s hot mouth drawing back across the length, tonguing the head before swiping against the base of his penis, the spot, he knows, that makes Douglas groan.

Douglas squeezes his eyes shut, the pit of his abdomen trembling, thrumming with a wave of arousal, the swooping, tingling sensation, both addictive and nauseating, quaking his body. He fights to stop his hips from jerking forward, grinding against the bed sheets, and feels his erection throb in protest. But it’s at that moment the silence shatters by a small, hitching sigh. The mattress dips and there’s a gentle palm against his thigh, cool against his heated skin. It slinks up slowly, stroking across his right buttock before curling softly against the small of his back.

Douglas’s skin prickles under the touch, hypersensitive to the point of pain- that thin line between pain and pleasure almost untraceable amongst the swarming mass of emotion corroding his senses.

“I thought about this,” Martin murmurs softly. “What to do. Everything I thought of though, you wouldn’t be surprised to know, seemed...”he pauses, humming slightly in thought, his index finger tapping erratic rhythms onto his skin. “ _Unworthy_ I think. Rubbish. Not for you. You deserved better.” The tapping ceases and Martin hums thoughtfully, stroking up and down Douglas’ spine softly. “You always do. You wouldn’t be happy if I gave you anything less than you deserved. I thought of...”

He bends forward slightly and Douglas can feel a gentle gust of breath against the middle of his spine. Martin mouths the spot, his lips moving against it in sweeping caresses as he speaks. “A lot of things really... Tying you up and leaving you here, teasing you for hours and hours- I know how you like that... I even thought of _buggering_ you with that lemon.”

 _My god-!_

Douglas presses his face against the pillow, obscuring his reddened cheeks and the muffled groan from Martin’s gaze. Martin grins in retaliation, Douglas can feel it against his skin.

“I’m not going to do that though. Not now. But I do know what you want...” the hand stills before drawing down, finger gently teasing before they slink between his buttocks to press against his entrance.

Douglas freezes, unable to move, and Martin smiles softly.

“I know _exactly_ what you want.” And he presses his finger against Douglas’ fluttering hole. “You want me don’t you? You want me to fuck you...” The curse sounds deliciously filthy on Martin’s lips.

Strangely erotic.

Douglas almost misses the old Martin, the real Martin, the man who blushes and splutters and tries to hide his laughter behind indignant scowls. The man who smiles gently, a mere quirk of the lips as Douglas kisses him. The man who doesn’t quite believe his luck, even though Douglas doesn’t think he’s much to be thankful for.

But he knows Martin’s still there, lurking somewhere beneath this new character he invented for Douglas. Captain Crieff.

 _Sir._

And as alluring as _Sir_ was, Douglas didn’t think he wanted anything other than his bumbling fool of a captain. His Martin. And for that, he doesn’t allow himself ponder on the matter for too long. He knows Martin will return to him when this is over.

In the meantime, he tries to enjoy the moment while he can, Martin firmly wriggling the tip of his finger inside, making him yelp in surprise.

“Do you want me to fuck you?” Douglas realises after a moment that the question isn’t rhetorical in the slightest and nods, groaning around the gag. His chin is wet and he can feel his cheeks heat up in embarrassment as Martin sits up, craning his neck to look at him.

The finger, uncomfortable as it is without lube, twists slightly and Douglas can feel himself clench around it. “And that’s what you want?”

Douglas nods again. God how many times did he need to show it? _Just get on with it Martin!_

Martin smiles and although Douglas can’t quite see it, he knows it’s there nonetheless. “Good.”

The finger leaves and he can feel Martin’s cool hands on his hips, manoeuvring him, hiking him up. He places a cushion under his hips so Douglas can rest on his front, his behind exposed now.

“Good boy,” Martin whispers softly and it vibrates across Douglas’ skin, crawling into him and nestling comfortably behind his ribcage. The praise, reasons unknown even to himself, makes him glow and he barely realises when he spreads his legs wider, pushing himself further down onto his front, fully exposing his tight hole to the other.

He doesn’t even jump when Martin’s fingers touch him again, now cold and slick and gloriously wet.

Douglas presses his cheek firmly into the pillow and makes not a sound as Martin’s finger enters him again, wriggling and twisting slightly to try and loosen him. It’s not his first time being on the recipient end of such an endeavour, it would be an insult to the suave Douglas Richardson charming his way into any bedroom of choice. It has been, however, a while since his last go at this. Buggery itself was certainly not off the list, not since starting a relationship with Martin. Being buggered was a completely different field though.

 _It’s all the same thing. Potato, potatoe._

The thought blurs slightly as Martin traces the edge of his hole with another finger, sliding it in with some stretching, pushing deeper until Douglas can’t help but grunt slightly around the gag. There’s a soft hand in his hair, comforting almost before he realises that Martin isn’t here to comfort. The act surprises him a little but he can’t comment and merely ignores it, enjoying the soft sensation of fingers carding through his hair. The fingers slide out slightly before pushing in again, small, abortive little thrusts making his insides squirm pleasantly.

Martin smiles above him. “How does that feel?”

Douglas cranes his neck to glare at Martin, the man receiving it with a pleased smile. He can feel his teeth sink into the lemon and soon enough the first few drops of acid are tasted with bitter resignation. Douglas grimaces but the expression melts as Martin twists his fingers again, working them in and out of Douglas smoothly. Martin crooks his them, feeling for the man’s prostate and gently pinching the nub between his fingers as Douglas jerks forward, groaning around the gag as a blindingly warm pressure blooms in the pit of his stomach. He squirms and grunts, pushing himself back onto Martin’s fingers, rocking slightly as his cock smears precome across the cushion beneath his hips.

“There we go,” Martin murmurs soothingly, running a gentle hand across Douglas’ back. “You’re alright...” And Douglas is momentarily torn between protesting in indignation at Martin’s words, or rutting mindlessly into the cushion like a dog in heat.

However all thought is wiped clean when Martin presses against that spot again and Douglas can’t help but moan wantonly, pushing back into the fingers as his body flares with heat.

“Calm down,” Martin says sternly. “We’ve got plenty of time for that.” And he pulls his fingers away with a wet pop, Douglas’ hole spasming at the sudden lack of presence to clench around.

There’s a slight shuffle behind him and Douglas is vaguely surprised he has enough sense to register it. He feels muffled, his body buzzing, skin alive and thrumming with heat. He feels sensitive, the scale of registering pain and pleasure smudged to a fault. Everything thrums, twinges in either ecstasy or pain, he can’t tell anymore. His insides are tuned, coiled tightly as Martin plucks on his nerves like a maestro, as if Douglas’ body is a perfect orchestra.

There’s a hand on the small of his back and it rubs in gentle circles before Martin speaks again. “You wanted me to fuck you didn’t you?” It’s a soft murmur, almost as if Martin is talking to himself. Douglas nods regardless, trying to crane his neck to glimpse the other.

“No, turn around.” The hand left his back to curl in his hair, jerking his head back around to press into the pillow. “And stay still...”

 _Stay still-_

 _Wait what?_

However before he could even ask, or think for that matter, something cold and hard touched the tip of his aching entrance. Douglas could feel the slippery tip enter tortuously slow and he had to fight not to flinch away.

“You said you wanted me to fuck you,” Martin says softly, his rumble snaking up Douglas’ trembling spine. “But you didn’t say how.”

And with that, he began to push, what Douglas’ could only surmise to the best of his ability, a very thick, and very large dildo into him.

His last thought, before his mind betrays him and turns to static, flickers briefly like a guttural flame before fading.

 _God I love this man._

“Believe it or not,” Martin speaks as he works the dildo into Douglas. “I bought this as a present for you...I...I had no intention of using it now.”

 _So why are you?_ Douglas screams mentally. Despite the coiling excitement flaring wildly within him, he can’t help but feel cheated slightly. This moment, and he’s not ashamed to admit thinking about it, was reserved for Martin. _Martin_.

But Douglas supposes he has his reasons. The slight pause in Martin’s words makes him frown.

“But then I thought,” he continues, his words lilting softly. “What better punishment for you than this?” He twists the dildo slightly and Douglas can’t help but clench on it. “Making you wait for me. All spread out, gagged, with _this_ in you.” he finishes with a snarl and thrusts the dildo sharply, Douglas crying out around the gag. He thinks he’s bitten down, he doesn’t know, can’t register anything but Martin’s words. Faintly however, he can taste the acidity of the lemon and thinks it’s rather fitting for the moment.

“I don’t think you realise how undignified you look right now,” Martin hums, catching Douglas off guard, who can’t help but melt at the sound. Martin purring like a cat, this gawky, gangly man positively dripping with sensuality, his baritone like liquid sex. Douglas shivers, the transformation within Martin so tantalising, he has to fight not to rip the infernal gag off and fuck Martin into the mattress. “Humiliating. It’s humiliating isn’t it Douglas?” The dildo retreats and Martin slams it back in, the movement sending sparks of fire up Douglas’ spine. “Answer me!”

Douglas hums around the gag, nodding fervently and Martin smiles, pleased with the shameful display of submission. “Good boy.” And he rubs a palm across the small of Douglas’ back, caressing in smooth, gentle circles as he thrusts the dildo in repeatedly, establishing a rhythmic stutter of sexual depravity. Douglas squirms as it moves deeper, Martin angling it to hit that spot, that sweet, pulsing, buzzing spot that makes him bite down on the gag, choking around a mouthful of acid.

He suddenly feels the hand on the small of his back snake around to his front, circling around his erection. Martin swipes a thumb over the head and Douglas groans.

“God Douglas,” he breathes. “You’re so wet. You’re leaking everywhere.” He tightens his fingers and gives a slow, languid stroke.

He’s pushing Douglas’ buttons now, seeing what will make the man crumble, buck and beg. Douglas knows it; it’s a game of wills now. He can feel his resolve crumble, giving in to the sensations Martin is bestowing on him. But he knows he can’t. He needs to wait, needs to bring himself to Martin’s level, take it all. This is his punishment, the gag, the dildo, the humiliation, Martin’s insistent teasing. They’re challenges.

Martin slams the dildo in again, hitting it squarely against his prostate and Douglas cries out, sweat sliding down his skin. “Do you like that?...” Another slam and Douglas is bucking forward into Martin’s hand. “Get up,” Martin commands. “Now, on your knees.”

Douglas complies, sitting up on his haunches, the change in position making the dildo sink deeper into him and he shudders at the sensation. It’s too hot in here, he feels he’s being burnt alive. His skin throbs and tingles with heat, blood pounding in his ears, his lungs constricting for breath. Martin leans forward, pressing himself flush against Douglas’ back. Douglas realises vaguely that Martin managed to strip his clothes away and now it’s only skin against skin. He feels so soft, like silk and Douglas wants to lean back and fall into it.

Martin presses his face into the crook of Douglas’ neck and inhales, his downy curls curled against Douglas’ cheek, who can’t help but nuzzle into his hair. He can feel Martin shiver, his skeleton trembling faintly and he can’t help but adore this break in character. He doesn’t touch Martin, doesn’t attempt to kiss him because he knows it’s not the right moment to. Martin pulls away and gently presses a kiss to the damp skin behind his ear before squeezing the base of Douglas’ cock.

“Don’t come,” he breathes. “I’m not done with you yet.”

Douglas’ breath catches in his throat when Martin pulls away, a gentle hand between the man’s shoulder blades nudging him forward. Douglas complies and presses his cheek against the pillow, the cool, soft fabric a welcoming touch to his flushed skin. He can feel his muscles lag, finally fall into puddles as he breathes, the tension of arousal almost relaxing despite contrary belief. Martin rubs a firm but gentle hand across his back, mapping the plains slowly before resting on the small of it, stroking softly as he pulls the dildo away. Douglas clenches his teeth at the movement, clutching the bed sheets with trembling fingers as he strains to adjust to the sudden emptiness within him.

Martin’s hands snake their way to his hips and nudge him up slightly as the mattress shifts and dips behind him. The pillow is repositioned and his thighs pushed outward a fraction by deft fingers, quick and nimble as they carry out their tasks. Douglas can feel himself aching with anticipation, his lips numb around the gag and his cheeks hot in embarrassment with his position. Martin seems to pause, pondering, just waiting as he brings a thumb to stroke thoughtfully around Douglas’ fluttering hole.

“Beautiful....” he murmurs just under his breath and Douglas fights not to clench away from Martin’s prodding thumb. “You really are quite stunning like this, Douglas.”

Douglas’ cheeks burn and his gut recoils in instinctual indignation at such an admission from Martin. The role reversal itself, at this moment, reveals itself openly and Douglas cannot help but bury his face into the pillow, humiliation and adoration bubbling together and churning into a wholly confusing and altogether potent mixture. It was he who so usually praised Martin, complimented him to bring forth the embarrassed blush that could come from someone so typically uptight. It was slightly overwhelming to be on the opposite end at this point and despite the praise making his cock stand to attention, he could not help but feel a slow churn of humiliation boil in his gut.

Martin smiles slightly; Douglas can feel it.

“You’re embarrassed,” he whispers, the ghost of the words floating against the clammy skin of his back. Martin presses a soft kiss there before edging downward, trailing fluttering kisses down his spine. “Aren’t you?”

Douglas squeezes his eyes shut tightly before nodding faintly. He can feel Martin’s teeth against his skin from the man’s sudden grin.

“And so you should be really...” His hands float to Douglas’ thighs as he nuzzles the skin at the small of Douglas’ back, kisses it gently. A slow minute passes, torturous to Douglas who isn’t quite able to determine what Martin is planning. And it’s slightly degrading to himself to realise he is suddenly caught, stumped with the tedious knowledge that Martin has finally gotten the better of him.

He squirms.

“If you’re so embarrassed by that,” Martin says thoughtfully, his voice quiet, low as Douglas strains to hear him past the insistent thumping of his heart. “What would you do if I did this?”

 _Did what_ \- The panicked thought barely has a millisecond the form before the faint touch of Martin’s tongue against his entrance sparks into his brain, a small implosion rocking his senses as the tongue flattens and Martin lavishes him with a slow, languid lick.

 _Oh my god-_

Martin suddenly pulls away and Douglas is torn between sighing in relief and pushing back onto the man and screaming for more.

He couldn’t believe it- _did Martin just-_

 _Martin-_

 _He just-_

Douglas groans and rubs his face into the pillow again, his entrance fluttering for touch, his erection throbbing. He doesn’t know how much longer he can take of this before he feels his heart might give out. Martin is certainly a tease on the best of days when Douglas can coax such behaviour from him with careful planning and gentle words, but this was most definitely reaching a new level. An exciting level and not necessarily unappreciated. But certainly an unanticipated one.

By now though, Douglas only wants Martin. Martin over him and inside him and _owning him_.

There’s a faint pop, the squelching, wet sound of lube being applied to a hand, Martin’s hand and at this very moment, Douglas can only think _yes, yes, yes_ as his skin tingles in expectancy and his blood thickens into syrup.

“I think you’ve taken your punishment well, haven’t you?” Martin says his words slightly breathy. Douglas closes his eyes, straining to hear the faint sound of flesh on flesh, imagining with no little amount of finesse, Martin’s hand around his own erection, tugging at it, his cheeks flushed with arousal, moist, pink lips parted in abandon.

Douglas’ face burns and sweat trickles down his neck.

“You’ve been so good...” His crooning trails off, sinking beneath Douglas’ skin as he leans forward, his cock nudging against Douglas, hands coming to grip his hips firmly. Douglas shivers, Martin’s words rolling into him one by one, seeping into his skin and dissolving into his blood like a drug. “My good boy...”

Douglas’ teeth sink into the gag as he groans around it loudly, arching up, the praise sending shudders down his spine. Martin positions himself, pressing the head of his cock to Douglas’ entrance and waits.

Simply waits.

Until Douglas can’t take it anymore and pushes back against him, impaling himself onto Martin, the tight, hot burn as his muscles stretch around the head of the other man’s cock a welcoming sensation that burns right through him. He’s only dimly aware Martin isn’t wearing a condom and another moan rises from his throat, muffled around the gag as his entrance clenches around the other, the thought of Martin’s come inside him making him rut forward into the cushion.

“You’re so _brilliant_ ,”Martin whispers in his ear as he leans forward, biting softly on the lobe. The position allows him to sink further into the man and they both groan appreciatively. “So good...just brilliant...god...”

Douglas can feel the tension, the tight scramble for control as it cracks and slips between both of them, melting away as their respective roles crumble again for the second time that night. Douglas opens his eyes and cranes his head as best as he can, glimpsing the anguished look of pleasure across Martin’s, his eyes wide and shimmering, those beautiful grey pools darkened, dilated into watery abysses. He’s flushed, cheeks burning bright, a ruddy red staining his face, crawling down his neck and blooming across those sharp collarbones.

It’s breathtaking and Douglas can almost feel his heart stop.

Martin bites his lip and leans forward to press a kiss on the corner of Douglas’ mouth, soft skin brushing chastely, the break in their roles acknowledged as eyes shut, as Martin slams forward with a grunt and a cry drawn from Douglas, as he whispers softly but assuredly- “I love you.”

The three words make Douglas freeze, breath stolen from him as his chest thumps painfully. But as Martin pulls out and slams forward again, sharp and hard, they disappear as quick as they came and Douglas falls to static.

The next few minutes pass as a messy blur of rocking and thrusting, hips slapping wetly against hips, crescent nail marks biting into Douglas’ sides as Martin drives deeper, chest heaving for breath. It’s certainly lacking in finesse, the refined art of making love reduced to nothing more than carnal fucking; skin on skin, pushing and grinding into each other as they strive higher and higher for that precipice. Douglas clutches the bed sheets, his fingers tangling in them as the hot, burning friction makes his abdomen flutter with elation, pressure blooming, thickening and sparking violently across his groin.

The warm scrape of Martin’s cock against his entrance, the deep pull and push of them, the slight nudge against his sweet spot makes him shudder, push back for more as he fights not to sink his teeth into the gag. It is a losing battle, especially when Martin throws his head back, nails sinking into Douglas’ skin and pounds harder. Douglas almost wishes he could see him, could see Martin’s head hanging, sweat flying from his skin with every brutal thrust, mouth hanging open in rapture as he heaves for much needed air.

“D-Douglas...”Martin whines, his hips stuttering wildly, pausing slightly on a grind that has Douglas seeing stars. God, how glad he was Martin agreed to this. He spares a moment to imagine a scenario where Martin wouldn’t be pounding deliciously into him and hates it.

The pillow bellow him is now damp, sweat and drool soaking it as Douglas’ head butts against it, lemon juice stinging the corners of his mouth from where it seeps through. Martin hits that spot again and he can’t help but arch up, clenching involuntary and in the process, bringing forth a rather sharp shout from the captain.

“A-ah!”

 _God that’s beautiful_ , he thinks as he struggles for breath, a sudden rush of vertigo approaching from the lack of air and their exertions. He can feel it approaching, the creeping, bubbling presence starting from deep within his chest and sinking down to his gut. It spreads wildly, tingling in his throat, choking him as it burns intensely. He cock bobs between his legs, dripping with precome, hard and aching and deliciously sensitive, especially when Martin reaches down and thumbs the head clumsily.

“Hmmm-!” Douglas groans, jerking into the fist closing tight around the base of his erection as Martin pumps harder, faster. He feels so full and it is amazing, this onslaught of sensation, the friction, the idea that Martin is literally _inside_ him. Buggering him right now.

Martin.

 _Martin._

The thought alone is enough to push him over that peak, falling from the precipice he edges toward with every sweaty, sticky second that passes by. White lights burst behind his eyes as his orgasm takes hold, his body shivering, jerking as if electrified. It is one of those deep, penetrative orgasms that leaves one blinking in mild surprise, thinking vaguely _let’s do that again_ , and Douglas, if completely and whole heartedly honest with himself, which he wasn’t often, would’ve said it ranked quite high on the list of glorified shags.

Needless to say, it leaves Douglas quite openly mindless as he buries his head in the pillow and cries aloud, coming hard. His teeth sink into the gag and the sharp flood of acid sliding down his throat only heightens the sensation, blowing his senses wide, tuning him to every fine point until he feels ready to collapse.

God it is wonderful.

His chest heaves, his throat stinging from the lemon juice seeping from the fruit. Upon feeling weightless as he collapses on his front, lightheaded as he struggles for breath and the fuzzy edges of his orgasm dispersing with twitches to his muscles, Martin continues to pound into him, moaning aloud when Douglas involuntary clenches around him, bringing the other to his peak soon after.

“Douglas, _Douglas!_ ” he cries, nails sinking into Douglas’ hips and hips stuttering erratically as he comes. Douglas writhes slightly, feeling Martin pulse within him, that hot flood of come making him scrunch his face, torn between embarrassment and fascination. Douglas isn’t a stranger to bodily fluids, as many who practised a healthy sexual lifestyle aren’t. But this scene, lying prone, Martin’s come _inside him_ , is so deliciously intimate, he wants to commit it to memory forever.

“D-Damn...” Martin pants, his arms visibly trembling as he tries to hold himself up. He’s pressed close, his chest almost flush with Douglas’ back, his penis softening inside the other, still connected fully. Douglas can feel the heat radiating from Martin and he feels like fire, like the sun itself. They know they need to move but at that moment, neither can summon up the energy to. Douglas lays there, his heart slowing to a respectable pace, limbs aching from exertion, sweat cooling on his skin leaving behind a dry, salty film that needs to be removed with a good shower. Martin doesn’t seem to fare any better, panting above him, knees knocking against Douglas’ thighs before he finally pushes himself up, pulling himself away from Douglas with a grimace and a wince, and rises to his wobbly feet like a newborn foal.

Douglas doesn’t even crane his head to catch a glimpse of the other as Martin potters toward the bathroom. At this point he finds himself completely devoid of any sufficient energy and is content to lie there, ignoring the pestering ache in his jaw and the twinge in his thighs. Martin soon returns however and clambers silently onto the bed, a wet cloth cleaning him fastidiously before he is forced onto his back, blinking in quiet awe at the ceiling. It’s an odd ritual, this perpetual silence that lingers behind, trailing like an echo from their exertions, the soft pants and grunts and wails previously drifting in the air like ghosts. It happens every time and although it is short lived, and in most cases, ignored due to the simple lack of acknowledgement from a sleepy Douglas and Martin, it continues on, an aftermath, some would argue, to their activities.

Martin, after swirling the corner of the flannel around Douglas’ sore hole, discards it and leans up to untie the gag, holding it in his hands as Douglas stretches his jaw, wincing as he tries to regain some sort of feeling in it. He leans forward and gently presses a kiss to Douglas’ swollen lips, licking softly and just _kissing_ , conceding that Martin was back. Douglas pushes back eagerly as if parched, drinking in as much of the other as he could before Martin pulls away, smiling softly and pressing his thumb to the corner of Douglas’ lip.

“Lemony,” Martin murmurs on a giggle. His eyes glitter and Douglas thinks it might well be the most beautiful sight he’s ever seen.

“Why you naughty little boy!” He growls throatily, tacking Martin to the bed and pinning him down. “Sadistic bastard.” He grins.

Martin groans and grabs a pillow, covering his face with it as Douglas wraps his arms around that slender waist and lays his head against Martin’s chest, ear against that beating heart. “I can’t believe I even did that!” Martin grumbles, muffled by the pillow. Douglas can feel the heat radiating from him as the customary embarrassed air returned with a certain _je ne sais quoi_ that made Douglas smile.

“I can.” Douglas smiles tiredly. “I must praise you really, that homemade lemon gag was certainly a stroke of genius.”

Martin snorts. “Now you’re just taking the piss.”

“No, no I’m not. Where’d they teach you to do that, Good Housekeeping?”

“Douglas!”

“I joke, I joke,” he smiles, rubbing his cheek across Martin’s chest. “It was absolutely _brilliant._ ”

Martin hesitates before lifting the pillow slightly, gazing at Douglas with one pale eye. “Brilliant?”

Douglas presses a kiss to Martin’s sternum. “Brilliant,” he affirms. “Everything was brilliant, the gag, you, that thing you did with your tongue-”

“Oh Douglas please!” Martin half heartedly thumps his shoulder in indignation. Douglas pushes himself on his elbows to look at him, pulling the pillow to cast it aside. Martin sports a faint pink blush and Douglas fights the urge to thumb it away. Instead he pushes himself closer, until they’re almost nose to nose, grinning rakishly down at the younger man.

“What Martin? I’m offended! You did...” he nuzzles Martin’s neck. “-the most riveting, erotic-” he bites gently on the skin, moving downward as he licks the salt away from Martin’s skin. “and sexiest things with your tongue-” he smiles as Martin’s breath hitches, hands tangling in Douglas’ hair. “-and I demand to know where you learnt such a thing from.”

Fingers card gently through his hair as Douglas licks in the dip of Martin’s hip. He can feel the man’s penis twitching, trying valiantly to stir and rakes his teeth across the soft skin bellow his navel.

“Douglas I don’t think pillow talk consists of comparing past experiences...even if I had any.” A red blush blooms on Martin’s cheeks as Douglas raises his eyes. “I just...did what I thought you might have liked?”

“Oh I liked Martin,” Douglas grins. “I liked a lot. And I demand a lesson.”

“A lesson?” Martin leans up on his elbows, frowning down at Douglas.

“Well... Douglas murmurs lowly, placing his hand underneath Martin’s knee and pushing it upward, spreading Martin’s lanky legs in the process. Martin’s pink pucker comes into view and he can’t help but smirk as his eyes flicker toward the other man again. “I’d say more of a demonstration. You relay instructions to me and I’ll do my very best to follow them.” He licks his lips, once again meeting Martin’s. “How does that sound to you?”

Martin gulps, his stomach trembling ever so slightly under Douglas’ touch, a ruddy pink blush, slinking across his collarbones, down his chest. Douglas likes to think he can almost see Martin’s heart beating though that thin, pale sheet of skin, his blood thickening to honey.

He decides then that he loves this the most, this soft, almost loving- for want of a better word, aftermath between the two. The way things were always meant to be. Their sessions are great, mind blowing and exhilarating.

But it can never beat this.

Douglas watches Martin swallow hard, those plump, pink lips opening around soft words. “That sounds...like...something you should probably get to...you know doing...” he gulps. “About now...”

Douglas can’t help but grin, finding himself, not for the first time that night, willing to follow any command Martin seemed fit to bestow him with. Regardless of incoherency.

He leans down, closing his eyes as he feel Martin’s thighs tremble against his cheeks.

“Yes _sir._ ”

Fin.

A/N- One of the cutest, fluffiest radio show/fandom/pairing ever and WHY DO I ONLY WRITE DIRTY DIRTY SMUT FOR IT? *head desk* At this rate I don't even think hell would want me.  



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